Continued from The Fountain Pen and the Crayon (part one) by guest writer Nick Scott. I hope you enjoy this concluding piece to our adventures in Baltimore as much as I did!
Ah the open road. . .anything can happen
on a road trip. Everything is fresh, new, and filled with excitement around
every turn. I have always found driving to be a passive form of amnesia. Forget
where you’re going, forget where you've been. Allow the wind to whistle through
open windows, let the sun shine from above and fill the cabin with music. Days
like this are meant for cruising and not blind speed.
Dear God, this is a
beautiful country!
Climbing up the mountains
through the clouds, we pass a scenic
overlook where all we see is fog. On a sketchy road through uncivilization we
seek food and fuel but only find fog.
Then the clouds break and the sun shines and suddenly we are surrounded by water—a mountain lake shimmering deep blue diamonds beneath green slopes, and
boats--lots of boats. This then becomes the highlight of our drive--such an
oasis of beauty could not be found on the turn pike or toll road.
Our arrival in Baltimore was
without trumpetis convocation. You see, Baltimore isn't really a roll-out-the-red-carpet kind of town. It’s more smile-and-compliment-as-you’re-stabbed-in-the-side--“Charm City” it’s called. Still though, we were together and not in
Ohio for a full weekend.
Back home, my Fridays are usually
spent at the corner seat of a finely established Irish bar in Dayton, Ohio.
Myself, a man named Jackson, Shamu (like the famous orca whale), Rob, Whitey, our benevolent host Mr.
Flanagan, and occasionally countless others all seem to cross paths on Friday
afternoons. We discuss life, fullfillingly meaningless things, topics of good
nature, and just enjoy the breaks from the ordinary before the avalanche of the
weekend crashes down upon our heads. Occasionally Jackie
will receive a pass from the purgatory of her day job and swing in wildly
like Quasimodo yelling "Sanctuary!" (*editor's note: this is only a slight exaggeration. . .) cornering up for a Guinness with the rest of
us. Given that Friday was our only semi-full day together in Baltimore, we felt compelled to carry on our Dayton routine to settle our souls before the wedding festivities began. I had heard from the man named after a famous whale of a place in Fells Point in Baltimore called Leadbetter's. Since you should always follow the orders of men named after famous whales, we went off in search.
Fells Point is an oasis from the grime of the city. I imagine that since it is filled
with countless bars, restaurants, and old television landmarks, it is
populated by a decent kind of people, the kind who don’t stab you in the side, but rather smile
and just steal your wallet. We walked along the water's edge enjoying each other’s company as we searched for our original destination and the purpose for our adventure to Never Never Again Land. We found the hole in the wall called Leadbetter's only to discover that on a holiday Indy race weekend in a major
metropolitan city a bar didn't open until 4pm. What manner of hysterical
nonsense is this? I see the people on the loose in search of food and beverage
and this place offered none. We were desperate now, our plans thwarted, time
was short and we needed to act quickly to salvage our day. Back-tracking toward
the car we noticed a place called Slainte on the horizon. It seemed yuppie-Irish
but for sure they would have another culture's good food. We popped in, settled up
to a table, and placed our order.
I must be honest, as I don’t even
remember what we said or if either of us spoke. I felt we were the silence in a storm; people flying by in all
directions surrounded us. Our thoughts were on the day to come, and, distracted, I left my wallet on a bench by the water. I realized when we had returned a half hour later to the hotel. Sure that someone would have taken it by now, but hoping for the off-chance that it was still there, we made the thirty minute drive back to the water. Much stress and prayer later, the wallet was found exactly as I left it. In the 8th most dangerous city to live in, my wallet sat safe on a bench in public for over an hour--a Baltimore Miracle! But now we were late for the rehearsal. . .
Racing downtown we were dressed to
our best ready to stand in support for these two preparing for their day of
celebration. I was semi-instructed to put my normal nonsense aside. We would
from this point on direct our focus toward the one we would soon call Krevin. Intrigue is my only feeling this wedding eve. When it's close family or a couple you know well getting
married, you understand what’s happening and in many ways it can almost be
boring and uneventful. Not the joining of two as one, but the motions of the
days leading up to the big day. This was different, strange being a wallflower
at this lovely occasion. It was clear from my view that this evening and the
next day would wrap around these two like a thick cocoon and fill them with
God, love and excitement.
Is there a more beautiful setting
for two people to join hands than a well sorted old church? It’s like having
the home court advantage, it has to help the occasion even if only slightly.
Friends and family are gathered, music is playing and it’s almost time. I must
point out however that I fear some who were in attendance might focus on the
heat of this sweltering August day. Was it actually heat? Or was it something
greater, far beyond our understanding? I was there and I felt something else: love. This same wedding between these
two people in the middle of winter would have felt the same. I truly
felt like God was warming each of our souls in attempt to share the feelings
these two had for each other.
The parties have assembled and the music has heightened--it’s
time. At that moment, whatever anyone felt about the thought of “heat” was gone.
Stricken instantly from the conscious mind all our focus was on the
celebration. Music filled the air accompanying a liturgy that felt like a
floral breeze. We should all be thankful to have savored this brief moment in
time. I’m a man of top tens and this one was up there.
Ah wedding receptions, a reason for
guests to be appropriately drunk. Just a short trip downstairs and we as guests
were treated to what could have passed for a hidden Tuscan hideaway. Lights
circled the space with laughter and smiles filling the air. A unique calm
settled over those of us in attendance and we were treated to tales of each
half of Krevin past. We sat, chatted, and enjoyed the most delicious dinner one
could ever have. I mean that in all sincerity. Our meal felt homemade and that
is something special. A homemade meal is like a lighthouse on a shoreline, it
will always lead you home. I believe strongly in the power of a meal, the
combination of family and friends around a table creates an impenetrable force.
It reminds us of what is really important, and will always warm the soul.
I should emphasize one thing about this entire tale of nonsense, fountain pens, and drunken crayons. It's not the sights or sounds that any of us will remember, not the words that were spoken or the delicious food we ate. What each of us will remember is how these two made us feel. For a few special days in August, two people were kind enough to share their love for each other with their closest friends and family. To Krevin I say, may your days be filled with smooth seas and calm breezes.
